


Does this Require Forgiveness?

by Baruch_HaShem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring Sherlock, Frustration, M/M, Multi, assuming, blackmail attempt, mention of threesome, wishing things could be different
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7518151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baruch_HaShem/pseuds/Baruch_HaShem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before tonight, it had not been clear to him that there was a difference between thinking he might want to do certain things with Sherlock, and then realizing he wanted to do those things <em>only</em> with him. In a way he wished he could have come to this realization before tonight. Still, there was nothing he would have to ask Sherlock's forgiveness for, because they were not a couple. He was a single, unattached, man, still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Frustration led to ...

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of the characters from the Sherlock BBC television series, nor any of the characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he was honest with himself, he wanted a closer, more intimate, relationship with Sherlock. But: Sherlock seemed unapproachable, unattainable, not interested in him, John Watson, his friend, flatmate and colleague _that way_ at all. And: While John could find men sexually attractive, he had not been intimate with any one.
> 
> On this particular evening, John found those circumstances particularly frustrating.

It started innocently enough the day before: John was at a two-day medical conference in Birmingham, bored. Next morning would be the last few sessions, after which he would head home, to Baker Street. Sherlock had said he would text or call him with an update on a case they had started to investigate together. When he had not done so by 10 PM, John tried calling him, again. Since there was no answer, he tried texting, again.

_Sherlock, please call or text me! JW_

This lack of communication was not typical for them. Maybe Sherlock was on a stake-out and had forgotten his phone, lost it, or the battery was dead? John tried to reassure himself that he would be intelligent and observant enough to stay out of trouble, banished thoughts that Sherlock could be hurt or kidnapped. Still, he found it unnerving to be far away, to not know what was actually happening. He did not like this feeling, decided to have a beer at the hotel bar.

Sitting at the counter, nursing his beer, turning his cell phone over in his hand, John thought about his relationship with Sherlock, the complicated man he was. Appeared to be, John corrected himself. He was certainly the most fascinating man he knew. And beautiful, his mind and body... What did he look like naked? What would it feel like to kiss him, touch his skin, love him?

If he was honest with himself, he wanted a closer, more intimate, relationship with Sherlock. But: Sherlock seemed unapproachable, unattainable, not interested in him, John Watson, his friend, flatmate and colleague _that way_ at all. And: While John could find men sexually attractive, he had not been intimate with any one.

On this particular evening, John found those circumstances particularly frustrating. So, when a woman and her male companion, both attractive, took the stools to his left, and, after a few minutes, began chatting him up, he chatted back.

Soon, chatting turned into flirting with John, which turned into suggesting he could spend some time with them in their hotel room. No biggie, no pressure, no strings attached, see what would happen. They stressed both of them were bisexual, of course they would practice safe sex.

John blew out a breath, pursed his lips. After asking their room number, saying he'd have to think about it, he excused himself. Walking and taking the elevator back to his room felt long. Sitting on his bed, looking at the screen of his phone, felt long. He would try ringing Sherlock again. If he did not answer...

There was no answer. Not knowing why Sherlock did not answer, John felt sad and excluded. Sitting here, he felt lonely, and very unsure of whether there was ever going to be any chance of a more intimate future for him and Sherlock. Presented with the opportunity to have sex with this couple, on this particular evening, John gave in to temptation - because he was frustrated.

He got up, brushed his teeth, had a shower, grabbed some condoms from his bag, then made his way to the couple's room. Knocking on their door, he felt quite nervous. Just before entering, at 10.34 PM, he turned off his phone.

They both were very warm and welcoming, though, made him feel at ease, he would recall later. He must have been somewhat touch-starved, because he actually felt relieved to be able to have sexual contact with other human beings. With Sherlock continually disrupting his dates, it had been quite a while since he had had sex. He and Sherlock were not in a committed romantic relationship, they were not partners or lovers, he could do what he wanted, here.

Being intimate with the woman felt familiar and natural for John, simply because he had been intimate with women before. With the man, he found it interesting and quite arousing, because it was new, and because he could not help but picture himself doing such things with Sherlock. Therefore, kissing this man, letting himself be kissed, touching him, and letting himself be touched by him, up to a certain point, was thrilling.

To be sure, what happened, was consensual. When the man tried to put his finger into John's anus while his partner was giving him head, and John said, "no, don't," it was respected. The man offered to let John penetrate him, but, realizing that he really wanted to experience this with Sherlock, John declined.

When asked, John agreed to let the man come over his back. After coming inside the woman's vagina, his semen contained in the condom, John took it off, tied it. He wiped the man's semen on the small of his back off with a flannel in their bathroom. Once he was dressed, tied condom, wrapped in tissue, in his trouser pocket - he would dispose of it later - he thanked them for the experience, then said good night. The encounter had lasted around 40 minutes.

On the way back to his hotel room, he thought of Sherlock, that he should speak with him, to find out whether he might be interested in him that way after all. He should ask, find out the truth, rather than assume that he was not. Turning his phone back on, he saw there were two missed calls, one text message:

_Sorry, I missed your calls and texts, John. Phone battery issue. Got the case solved tonight. Call me. SH_

He had taken his shoes off by the door, sighing, sat down on his bed, back resting against the headboard, feet crossed. The first missed call was from 10.35 PM, just after he had turned off his phone. Would he still have gone ahead with this threesome, if he had been able to connect with Sherlock? His heart beat a little faster as he dialled Sherlock's number.

"Hey!" John said softly, with a fond smile. "What's this, you solved the case, without me?"

"Naturally. - Without your company, though, it appeared even more boring." Sherlock's voice sounded neutral, though John liked to imagine that he was smiling fondly as well. "How was your evening?" Sherlock asked after a very slight pause.

 _Oh my goodness, what is he able to deduce over the phone? Does he know already?_ John tried to keep his breathing even. Though he had done nothing to be ashamed of, or that Sherlock could not know, he felt slightly uneasy, decided to be partly honest. Sherlock needn't know all the details at this time.

"I was bored." John pursed his lips, remembering. "Frustrated, also. Had a beer at the hotel bar, got chatting... wound up having sex." He left out the fact that there had also been some limited intimacy with a man. He was pretty sure Sherlock would assume that he had been with a woman, as usual.

"I'm not sure what the appropriate response should be to this. 'Good for you'?" Sherlock's voice sounded neutral as before.

John sighed, picturing Sherlock sitting on the couch, probably not interested to hear of such ordinary human behavior.

"The good thing is, it got me thinking." _About you._ "Sherlock, can I speak with you," John cleared his throat, "about, you know...?" _you and me,_ he trailed off. Very likely, Sherlock was rolling his eyes hearing him fumble like this.

"Yes, you can speak with me. And, no, I do not know what you are referring to. - John, are you alright?" Although John could not see him, it sounded like Sherlock was blinking his eyes, concerned for John.

"Yeah, I am. Just thoughtful, that's all. - I will be, I'm sure." _I have to be._ "Sherlock?" _Do you know how I feel for you?_

"Yes, John?" Sherlock's voice sounded even, patient.

John shook his head, sad. "It's late. I should go to bed, have to be up early. Should be back in the afternoon. We'll talk then. Sleep well, Sherlock."

The sigh John heard Sherlock breathe in answer felt so close.

"I look forward to seeing you then. Good night, John. Sleep well."

The phone call ended, John let his hand holding his phone sink to the mattress, sat still for a few seconds, then rubbed his hand over his forehead and head. Did Sherlock really not know what he wanted to talk about with him? Being Sherlock, John had to concede it was possible.

His short conversation with Sherlock brought back memories of what he had done with the man, things he wished he could do with Sherlock. Swallowing, he decided to have another shower, cleanse his body thoroughly, brush his teeth. Even though the three of them had practiced safe sex, he should probably get himself tested, nevertheless, they were strangers to him, after all.

With the light out already, tucked under his blanket, lying on his side, John found it hard to fall asleep. For some reason he did not want Sherlock to know that he had kissed a man, touched his erection, let the man lick and kiss him. It should not matter to Sherlock whether he, John, was with a woman, or a man, or had a threesome with both. Neither any of the man's fingers nor his penis had penetrated him. Though offered, he had not penetrated the man, tempting as it had been to experience that as well. And why did these facts seem to bear great importance, John wondered.

Before tonight, it had not been clear to him that there was a difference between thinking he might want to do certain things with Sherlock, and then realizing he wanted to do those things _only_ with him. In a way he wished he could have come to this realization before tonight. Still, there was nothing he would have to ask Sherlock's forgiveness for, because they were not a couple. He was a single, unattached, man, still.

But he found that it did matter, to him, that he had done this, had allowed himself to be intimate with other people than Sherlock. Part of the reason had been that he did not know whether Sherlock was open to and wanted to take their relationship further. He should have asked him, before he left for the conference...

Despite having a nagging feeling, John told himself that Sherlock did not need to know what exactly this sexual encounter tonight had entailed. He would speak with him tomorrow. At just past 1 AM, tomorrow was already today. - It had been a long time since he talked with God about his life. Maybe he should give that a try also, first.

***


	2. Would you like some tea?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost in thought, he notices his phone ping with a text message. Assuming that it is from Sherlock he opens it without checking the number.

After the conference, John takes the train back from Birmingham to London. It is less than two hours, giving him time to think about how he can broach the subject of them beginning a closer relationship, more than friendship, with Sherlock.

He also takes a minute to talk to God about his life, quietly, in his thoughts, with his eyes closed: _God, it's been so long, I don't know where to start. I'm sorry. - You know how I feel about Sherlock. I don't know how he feels about me. In a way, I'm scared. I don't want him to turn me down... Just,... give me peace, help me find the right words, give me wisdom. - Bless him and keep him safe. - Thank you, God._

He keeps it simple, more used to quick emergency prayers, when he needs help operating or they're in imminent danger during cases. Looking back, he does not know how he managed to survive that terrible time after his discharge. Obviously, he did not pull the trigger. _But..._ Was it coincidence that he met Sherlock, or destined to happen?

Lost in thought, he notices his phone ping with a text message. Assuming that it is from Sherlock he opens it without checking the number.

_We trust you enjoyed yourself with us last night. Time to pay up, or your hubby's going to find out you cheated on him! Your peace of mind, not to lose him over this, should be worth £20000, so he won't see this. Details how to transfer the money in 10 minutes._

Shocked, John's face falls. Attached are two pictures: one shows him fellating the man, the other is of him having intercourse with the woman, the man standing behind him, issuing semen over his back. Neither the face of the man, nor the woman's are visible, only John's. He quickly closes the pictures, covers his face with his hands.

What are these people thinking?! Hubby? That they've earned large sums of money solving cases? They are not married, not even in a romantic relationship, yet. He does not have £20000! If he did, would he pay to keep Sherlock from seeing these pictures? Why does he even care that the second one could be interpreted as the man having penetrated him, then pulled out to come over his back, even though that is not what happened?

The train will be arriving in London in 12 minutes. Trying to find a solution, he blinks. He just prayed for wisdom, now is being blackmailed! He does not have £20000. He does not want to lose out on a relationship with Sherlock.

When, as announced, after 10 minutes he receives another text with instructions how to transfer the money, he feels helpless. As a single man, he has done nothing wrong, the extortionist couple really has nothing on him. As a man interested in beginning a romantic relationship with his friend/flatmate, he also has done nothing wrong, because they are not a couple. The situation is only stressful because he does not know how Sherlock would react if he found out.

Which makes him wonder how well he knows Sherlock. Granted he does know him well, probably better than anyone else, because he lives with him. But sex, having needs, has not been a topic they have discussed. Sherlock has not indicated any romantic interest in him, John has not caught any signs that Sherlock is interested that way in him. At least if he was ..., but now this.

As the train is pulling into Marylebone station already, John decides to be honest, hopes it will not diminish his chances with Sherlock.

_No point blackmailing me, I don't have the money._

_£15000? He must be worth it._

_No._

_£10000?_

_No. I'm not dealing with you. Do NOT contact me again!_

The text exchange goes back and forth. He does not bother clarifying that, at this time, Sherlock is not his husband. Whoever tried to blackmail him did not do their research, simply assumed, as so many do. This points to the fact, though, that he was targeted specifically because of his association with the famous detective.

After sending this last text, John turns his phone off, stuffs it in the pocket of his jacket. He is third in line to get off the train. When he steps on to the platform, he looks to the ground first, then with a serious expression begins to make his way through the crowd to the exit.

"John! - What is it?" He hears his name being called, looking up sees Sherlock standing 3 meters away, his smile fading.

"Sherlock, I didn't expect you to be here." John's face brightens, despite the circumstances. They step to the side in order to let other people pass by.

"You said you wanted to speak to me. Sounded kind of urgent," Sherlock's eyes and his mouth are beginning to smile again. "It was not hard to deduce which train you would be on. So, here I am."

"Right, I..."

Just then, Sherlock's phone vibrates with an incoming text.

"Probably Lestrade, out of his depth again, hang on." He reaches into his coat pocket, retrieves his phone, opens the text.

"Sure it's from Lestrade?" John asks, now cautious of text messages from unknown numbers.

"Hubby?" Sherlock's eyebrows rise, his finger poised to tap at the screen.

" _Don't_ open any attachments, _please_ , Sherlock!" John asks, assuming there are pictures attached and that Sherlock is about to look at them.

"Very well," Sherlock sighs, puts his phone back in his coat pocket.

"What did the text say?" John inquires, looking at the ground.

"I'm not going to repeat that," Sherlock bites out, retrieves his phone, shows John the text.

_Your hubby cheated on you. Since he wouldn't pay to keep it from you, here you can see the proof!_

"Is this what you wanted to speak to me about?" Sherlock's voice is calm, even though John can see that the corners of his mouth are slightly turned down.

"No. Not that." John purses his lips. He hopes to still get a chance to have that conversation.

Once they've made their way out of Marylebone station, they head toward Baker Street, quiet stretching between them for a few minutes.

"May I see your phone, please. - I won't look at the pictures," Sherlock reassures John.

"Why?" It's a simple question.

Sherlock does not answer, but repeats, "Please," keeps his hand stretched out. With a sigh, John hands him his phone. Sherlock reads through the text exchange.

"Aha!" He shakes his head. "They stayed at the same hotel as you?" When John nods, he adds, "Obviously they are _not_ bright! Their attempt to blackmail you should have consequences! Is it alright if I ask Mycroft to find and deal with them, without looking at the pictures himself?"

"Deal, how?"

Sherlock shrugs his shoulders, a hard smile appearing at the corners of his eyes, his lips pressed tight. "I haven't decided yet what their punishment should be for trying to blackmail my 'hubby'."

John closes his eyes, shakes his head. "Fine," he agrees, preferring no one from Scotland Yard see those pictures, especially not Donovan or Anderson.

They've arrived at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock opens the door, lets John go ahead upstairs, then opens their apartment door for him.

"Welcome home, John." Sherlock's voice sounds matter-of-fact, warm and sincere. "Would you like some tea?" he asks, knowing John would make some for him if he was upset about something. Offering, making and drinking, at least some, tea seems the right thing to do at this time.

"Yes, thank you, that would be nice." John sighs, heads into the bathroom.

In the kitchen, Sherlock puts the kettle on, gets their tea mugs ready, texts Mycroft. When he brings their steaming mugs into the living room, John sits in his armchair.

"Thank you." He gratefully accepts his cup, touched by Sherlock's expression of caring.

"You're welcome. I texted Mycroft already, told him to use discretion, and all that rubbish." Clearly Sherlock has no patience for blackmailers. "So," he settles on the couch, "you wanted to speak with me. About?"

***


	3. Grateful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You wanted to speak with me," he starts the conversation right away as soon as John sits down in his armchair. "The truth, please," he adds, looking straight at John with a straight face that gives nothing away.

John does not really feel like talking about his feelings for Sherlock anymore, right this minute. The attempt to blackmail him has left 'a sour taste in his mouth.'

"Can we talk later? Right now, I'm tired."

"Of course, later is fine. I am curious!" Sherlock gets up, takes his violin, plays something soothing. With a satisfied smile, he watches John doze off.

When John wakes up a while later, the apartment is quiet. Sherlock lies on the couch facing the coffee table, napping, his lips are slightly parted. John smiles softly, would like to stroke Sherlock's hair, run his fingers through his curls. He is very aware of the peace he feels, that appears to be present throughout their apartment. He remembers that he had asked God to give him peace.

Feeling a lot better, with a sigh he gets up, stretches his arms and legs. In the kitchen, he checks the fridge for items to prepare their supper with. Sherlock did not go shopping in his absence, Ms. Hudson seems to be away, as evidenced by the glaring lack of such suitable items. He certainly does not feel like venturing to go grocery shopping now, prefers to stay home. He'll make a list of what they need later, for tomorrow.

The six eggs left in the egg carton are subjected to the water test. Since one of them comes up floating, it gets discarded. The rest are mixed up with some milk, chopped onion, dried herbs, then poured into a pan. As the omelette is setting, he sprinkles some grated cheese on top. The thin layers of mold he had to cut off the cheese in some spots are also discarded. The empty egg carton is placed in the recycling bin.

The clatter caused by retrieving and setting out plates and glasses seems to have woken up Sherlock. The sound of running water in the bathroom indicates that he is having a shower.

Thinking about that makes John wonder what Sherlock looks like naked. Smiling at himself, he shakes his head, continues topping slices of toast with sliced tomato and pouring glasses of apple juice mixed with water.

Sherlock's shower is indeed quick, he joins John at the kitchen table in less than six minutes. John knows, because he was keeping track of time, as if he could not wait. Smiling, he shakes his head at himself, again.

"Is this the first time you've been the victim of blackmail?" Sherlock jumps right in, before having some of the scrambled eggs.

John nearly chokes on a sip of apple juice mixed with water, clears his throat. "Erm, yes. What about you?"

"Oh, I've been blackmailed several times. When I was younger. Nothing recent."

John's raised eyebrows and nod, he has his mouth full with a piece of toast, encourage Sherlock to elaborate.

"Someone would threaten to tell Mycroft that I was using drugs again if I didn't pay them. He'd drag me off to rehab if he found out."

"So, what did you do?"

"For a while, I viewed using drugs preferable to rehab. Natural for an addict, really."

"Where did you get the money to pay them?"

Sherlock remains quiet, takes a bite of his tomato topped toast, instead.

"Alright. - You don't have to tell me." John realizes Sherlock may have paid with his body.

"Thank you. - Those pictures you don't want me to look at..." As he comes to certain conclusions, Sherlock begins to look sad.

John can tell because he knows him so well: the vacant stare at the kitchen table that lasts a second too long, followed by a blink, lips pressed just a little tighter, inhale, chin lift. They continue eating quietly, John does not know what to say.

"Thank you for preparing supper for us, John, I appreciate it." Sherlock nods briefly in John's direction, then carries his dishes to the sink. "Would you like me to do the dishes today?"

John turns around, looks at Sherlock's back as he stands by the sink with his head slightly bent down.

"No, that's alright. - Thank you for thanking me. You're welcome."

In all the time that they have lived together Sherlock has not thanked John for any meal preparations, the only exception being when he was handed tea. Many times he has said "thank you" for that. Which makes John wonder why he is thanking him now.

After having taken care of the dishes, John joins Sherlock, who is sitting on the couch, in the living room. He is looking up something on his computer, then typing a message on his phone.

"You wanted to speak with me," he starts the conversation right away as soon as John sits down in his armchair. "The truth, please," he adds, looking straight at John with a straight face that gives nothing away.

John gulps at the unexpected directness. "The truth. - Well, to be honest I wish I had taken the courage to speak with you about this before I went on this conference."

Sherlock's features soften a little. "Go on." He looks ahead at the opposite wall, not at John. "I've come to realize that I want us to be more than friends, to have a more intimate relationship."

John's heart is beating faster in his chest, he does not know how this news will be received.

Sherlock reaches for his phone. A few seconds later John's phone pings with a text message. When he opens it it contains a link to an STD clinic. Clicking on the link provides information about their services and hours.

"They are open until 9 PM tonight. You could wait there while they rush some of the results, in case you need some follow-up treatment. I'll be here." Sherlock smiles at John. "The answer is, yes," he adds, a soft smile graces his lips as he looks at John, "I want us to be more than friends as well."

"May I kiss your hand?" Sherlock stretches out his hand, inviting John to give him his.

John feels his hands getting sweaty and his knees go weak even though he is sitting. He certainly was not expecting this. He should feel happy, yet he feels serious. Wordlessly he places his hand into Sherlock's open palm.

John's eyes widen as Sherlock very tenderly presses his lips on his hand. Incredulous, he blinks. He had no idea this would happen.

After a second Sherlock lets go of John's hand. "You may as well go, so you'll be back sooner," he hints with a soft smile.

John shakes his head. "Alright." He gets up, smiling himself, looks at Sherlock, then goes grab his coat. He'd like to take Sherlock in his arms, but then he might want to stay in and not get certain tests done. "Thank you, Sherlock, I'll see you later," he says from the door before pulling it closed behind himself. The melody Sherlock plays on his violin following John down the stairs sounds hopeful.

Within a minute a taxi stops to pick up John. "Where to?" the taxi driver asks. John gives the address, grateful that there is no comment. He is also grateful that Sherlock is not asking for more details, seems to accept whatever he thinks he knows, and apparently wants to move on.

 _Thank you, God_ , John thinks, wishing he was already on his way back home.

***


End file.
